by Robyn DeHart
“You did not tell him you were the one sending him the letters, did you?” Meg directed her question to Willow.
Willow crossed her arms over her chest. She did not have to defend herself over those letters. They were within her right to send. “It didn’t precisely happen in that manner,” she muttered.
“In what manner did it happen, then?” Meg asked.
“He knew it was her,” Amelia said excitedly. “She said something and he recognized it from a letter.” She shook her head. “And then off they went, challenging each other back and forth.”
“Oh, I would have paid great money to have seen that,” Charlotte said.
“Indeed. It was not a night I will soon forget,” Amelia said.
“Nor I,” Willow said. This situation might be humiliating had she not been friends with these women for years. It was bothersome, but they jested in kindness. Even so, she did not want to discuss Inspector Sterling.
“Was he as dashing as Amelia said?” Charlotte inquired.
“What has that got to do with anything?” Willow said.
“Oh, then he must be,” Meg said.
Willow rolled her eyes. “Honestly. Don’t you think of anything other than how dashing men are? There are far more important things in life to fret over.” She might not be as interested in men as her friends, but she certainly wasn’t blind—although she often pretended not to notice men. She never indulged thoughts and fancies, but she’d be a fool not to take notice of a man such as Inspector Sterling. He was a fine specimen, indeed.
If one prefers men who are overly tall and overly opinionated, she reminded herself. Or men who wear their hair so unfashionably long that it hangs far too much in their face.
“She certainly looks as if she found him rather dull,” Charlotte said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in her voice.
Willow tilted her chin up. “It matters not what Inspector Sterling looks like or whether or not I thought him to be attractive.”
“She’s right,” Amelia said.
That surprised her. She turned to her friend. “Thank you, Amelia.”
Amelia flashed her a devilish smile. “What is important is that she and the inspector made a wager.”
“How very improper of you.” Charlotte sat on the edge of her seat. “Willow, honestly, I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Willow really could kill Amelia right about now. Her friends stared openly at her. It was too much. She smacked her hands on her lap.
“Oh, stop it. Stop gaping at me.”
“Precisely what sort of wager is it?” Meg asked.
Amelia’s eyebrows rose, but she said nothing. Apparently she had finished torturing Willow, and was going to allow her to fill in the remaining details.
She sighed and resigned herself to telling Meg and Charlotte the rest, knowing they would not allow her to withhold such information. “After I was exposed for the letter writing,” she said, “he tossed down the gauntlet, so to speak. He issued a challenge to see who could first solve a mystery and I accepted.”
Charlotte started to make a comment that was no doubt cheeky, but Willow held her hand up. “It is my duty to show this man how to adhere to rules and regulations. Since his superiors have been unable to do so, perhaps he needs practical guidance. I can do that.” She nodded once to affirm it.
Meg frowned in confusion. “So you are going to work with him? At the Yard?”
“Not exactly.” She hesitated to mention precisely how the wager had come about, about how he’d manipulated her and about how he probably sat, even now, with his inspector friends jesting about the silly woman who believes she’s going to work an investigation. But the laugh would be on him. She was already cultivating a plan to ensure that he didn’t wiggle out of their wager.
“We are to work a case together,” Willow continued. “At the moment, he’s on probation, well deserved, if you ask me. Once he’s back as a lead detective, I will be privy to all the details of the investigation and we will race, if you will, to see who can solve the case first. Me,” she placed her hand on her chest, “by following the rules. Or him, by doing whatever it is that he does.” She flit her hand about. “I can assure you all, I fully intend to win.” It would be a tall order, she knew, but now that he had made a fool of her, she was determined to turn the tables on him and win, simply to prove her point.
Charlotte chuckled softly. “Of that, I have no doubt, my dear Willow.”
Willow took a sip of her tea, and then folded her hands in her lap. “Yes, well, thanks to Amelia you are all quite informed of last night’s events. But that is certainly not why we are meeting today,” she reminded them. It was too unsettling having them all look at her so eagerly and listen so intently about her life. This was precisely the reason she maintained such an uneventful life—less interest and focus from others. Well, certainly not the only reason, but that was neither here nor there.
Amelia frowned. “We always meet on Wednesdays.”
“Yes, I realize that. What I meant was, there are other pertinent things to discuss,” Willow said.
“Like our boy, Jack,” Charlotte said with a grin. “Naughty, naughty boy that he is.”
“Indeed,” Willow said. They had long been following the escapades of the now notorious Jack of Hearts, a jewel thief who had a penchant for walking straight up to London’s wealthiest people and simply taking their gems. It was a most appealing case for the society, but seeing as their only clues were those left in the papers, the trail to him had led them nowhere.
They had even, on a handful of occasions, ventured out in their finest to try to lure the gentleman thief. To no avail. They had yet to catch the slightest glimpse of him.
“I had an opportunity to attend that opera last night,” Charlotte said. “But Frannie convinced me that the Bensen soiree would be a better choice. So of course I missed him again.”
The Jack of Hearts had struck the opera house the previous evening, taking no fewer than three private boxes. What always amazed Willow was the willingness of the people to simply hand over their prized possessions without any sort of resistance, as if being robbed by the masked thief was some sort of honor. Were she ever to encounter him, he’d have to literally rip the jewels off her body, as she would certainly not hand them over willingly. There had been no reports thus far of violence on his part, although he was rumored to carry a small pistol.
“How was the Bensen soiree?” Meg asked.
Charlotte shrugged. “Moderately entertaining. Now that Frannie has come out, Mother is hassling both of us to find matches. I think she’s beginning to lose hope for me.”
“Well, can you blame her?” Willow asked. “You have declined a rather large number of proposals since your own coming-out. I do believe you hold some sort of record.”
Charlotte smiled sweetly. “Actually, Jane Portfield has me by at least three.”
“Yes, but she never did marry,” Willow pointed out.
“She never married because she wanted to continue cavorting with as many gentlemen as she chose,” Meg said. “And she certainly doesn’t take care to hide her affairs. She’s quite bold about them.”
“Jane Portfield is nothing like our Charlotte,” Amelia said. “She had no desire to be any man’s wife. She is content to be a spinster, although I use that word loosely. Charlotte will certainly get married. As will you, Willow.”
Willow eyed Amelia and opened her mouth to disagree, then thought better of it. There was no point in arguing with her. Amelia was convinced that all of them would find love as she had. Granted, she’d been right about Meg. Meg had found love at her father’s chocolate factory and ended up married to a viscount. And Amelia was probably right about Charlotte. Eventually, the beauty would settle down and find a man who might make her reckless heart happy. But for Willow, having a family was simply not possible. She had enough responsibility already and she could never desert her mother. There was no reason to argue about it, however; she’d never be able to convince her
well-meaning friend that not everyone would find her own happy ending.
“So, what are we going to do about the ever elusive Jack of Hearts?” Charlotte asked.
“We must keep trying to catch him,” Amelia said. “We simply haven’t been at the right places.”
“I agree. We can’t stop simply because we haven’t had any luck thus far,” Meg said. “And I have the perfect opportunity.” She leaned forward and set her saucer and cup down. “Apparently Gareth has an aunt here in London who is throwing a ball in his honor. And mine,” she added with a smile.
“That should be perfect, since we never did get to properly celebrate your wedding,” Amelia said.
“Yes, well, Gareth believes his aunt is more thrilled that Gareth married into my father’s fortune rather than finding a long-lost nephew after all this time.”
“Perhaps she really is genuine,” Amelia offered.
Meg shook her head. “It’s doubtful. She still keeps her family’s estate, but apparently doesn’t have very many funds. She’s already hit my father up to actually pay for the ball. Of course, he won’t be listed as a host on the invitations.”
“How positively vulgar,” Willow said.
“Indeed,” Amelia agreed.
Meg shrugged. “Gareth tried to talk them out of it, but his words fell on deaf ears. I keep telling him that it will be fun, but I don’t think he believes me. In any case, they’ve now decided to make it a masque ball, and so I’m sure it will be well attended. The perfect place for our masked thief to feel right at home,” she said with a smile.
“Or for any other masked man who feels obliged to take people’s jewels,” Willow said.
“Honestly, Willow, it’s not good for you to expect the worst of people,” Amelia said.
Willow knew her friend was right, and on most days she could squelch those sorts of feelings, but she wasn’t feeling in high spirits today for some reason. Perhaps because her mother had another episode last night when she’d arrived home. She’d missed most of the drama, but she still got to see plenty. She sighed and leveled her gaze on her friend.
“You’re right. I shall endeavor to not believe the worst in everyone. But if my jewels are stolen that evening, I shall blame you,” she added with a smile.
“Fair enough,” Amelia agreed.
“You will all receive your invitations in the post quite soon, I believe. But we’ll have time to formulate our plans at the next meeting,” Meg said.
The clock chimed and Amelia stood abruptly. “I do hate to rush everyone, but I must go. I have an appointment with the dressmaker and then I’m meeting Colin at his offices.”
Willow stood and made her way to the door.
“Don’t let your inspector worm his way out of that wager, Willow. You know how men are,” Charlotte said.
Willow paused and eyed Charlotte for a moment, then nodded and slipped out the door. Charlotte was rather astute when it came to men, but Willow didn’t think her friend had perceived the entire situation.
Still, Charlotte was right: Willow needed to be diligent about the matter and not allow Mr. Sterling to get out of their wager. She’d shaken hands to seal the deal and she wasn’t about to allow him to forget such a thing. Perhaps it was time to pay the good inspector a visit.
Chapter 3
James had no sooner arrived at work than he was called into Randolph’s office.
“You beckoned?” James said as he sat far too casually in one of the chairs opposite Randolph’s desk.
Randolph eyed James with disdain. His supervisor didn’t like him. James had known that for a while now. But Randolph also knew that James was one of the best inspectors he had, so while he might punish him, he wasn’t likely to dismiss him.
“You know what your problem is, Sterling?” Randolph said.
“Please enlighten me.”
“You don’t need this job or the pay, so you have this devil-may-care attitude and it gets in the way of your being an inspector. I should dismiss you. But as it turns out, it’s your lucky day.” Randolph gathered some papers and held them out to James. “A nasty little murder on your side of town.”
James tried not to react to the excitement in his stomach. He was so damned tired of working under Finch. He’d worked too hard to run his own investigations and to have his position snatched so carelessly away from him. The last month had been sheer hell. He casually flipped through the papers. The first constable on the scene had written up the report of the murder, but there were very few details to go on. His side of town, indeed.
“You know this git?” Randolph asked.
James scanned the name and it was certainly familiar. “I know of him.” He read some more and found the usual lack of detail. “Is the body still there?” James asked.
Randolph practically spit. “That I don’t know. Why don’t you get yourself over there and see?”
“Why me?” James asked, already knowing the answer.
He shrugged. “They’ll talk to you. You’re one of them,” Randolph said.
“The victim was a photographer, not an aristocrat,” he pointed out.
“But he moved in those circles. From what I understand he was Society’s most revered photographer and was planning a large exhibit with all the portraits he’d been commissioned to do. ‘Portraits of Ladies.’”
“Well, if he was so loved, why would anyone want to kill him?” James asked dryly.
Randolph pointed a finger at him. “That’s where you come in.”
“It wasn’t an actual question.”
His supervisor shook his head. “Just get out of here and get to work. I expect a report on this on my desk by the end of the week.”
James turned to go.
“Oh, and Sterling—this time, you think you can keep your nose clean?” It was a command, not a request.
James walked out the door, not bothering to answer the question. He’d always gotten his work done on his own terms. First the bothersome Miss Mabson, and now Randolph.
Speaking of Miss Mabson, what exactly had he been thinking last night, making a wager with her? More important, what had a proper lady such as herself been thinking when she’d accepted such an asinine challenge? Who was he kidding? He knew why she’d agreed. He’d baited her, twisted his words in such a manner that he’d made it nearly impossible for her to say no.
Luckily for him, he could pretend that the lapse in judgment had never occurred. She knew he was on probation, so waiting for a lengthy bit of time would ease that little wager into the past and soon it would be forgotten. He certainly did not intend to allow a woman to assist him with an actual investigation.
He looked down at the paper in his hands. It felt damned good to have his own case again. He only needed to gather some things and find a sergeant to assist him, and then he could head to the scene of the crime.
James stepped into the open area that housed the desks of the inspectors and practically ran right into someone. That someone turned and looked up at him. He tried to hide his surprise.
“Miss Mabson, are you looking for someone?” he asked.
“You,” she said.
She was tenacious; he’d give her that. “Do you need assistance with something?”
“I stopped by to ensure that you intend to hold to the wager we made last night.” Her light and very feminine voice carried through the open room.
He cringed when a number of the men sitting around uttered low whistles and coughs. As if they hadn’t ribbed him enough over his probation. The last thing he needed was their pestering him about making wagers with ladies of the ton. More fodder for his bloody nickname. “Bluestocking.”
He grabbed her arm and led her out into the hall.
“What are you about, Inspector?” she said curtly, then pulled her arm free of his grasp.
“I thought talking out here might be more the thing. Did it not occur to you that when you walked into an office full of men and mentioned wagers that it might perk some ears?”
Her eyes rounded. “Oh, good heavens. I never even thought. What they must think of me,” she said.
“You?” he said. “I work with them. They don’t even know who you are.”
“Well, this is getting us nowhere.” Her lips tightened.
“Precisely why are you here?” he asked.
“I wanted to make certain you had not forgotten about our little conversation.” She said the last part in a whisper. “It occurred to me after you left last night that we never made arrangements for how you would notify me of the case. I thought if I stopped by this morning, I could give you the details you need to get in touch with me.”
She was quite serious—although he really ought not be surprised by that revelation. Though he’d never met her before last night, she’d been writing him letters for more than a year and he knew her through her words. He had already surmised a great many things about her.
One of which was that Willow Mabson was nothing if not serious.
Of all the ridiculous things he had gotten himself into, this might top the list.
“Well, as I mentioned last night, I’m on probation and am not working cases alone right now. I’ll be certain to contact you with the first one I’m assigned.” The lie rolled so cleanly off his tongue, he almost felt proud.
“What are you still doing here, Sterling?” Randolph barked as he walked past. “Get to work on that case before I change my mind and put your back on probation.”
It was as if the man came out on cue. James could almost hear Willow’s satisfaction at catching him in a lie. He flashed her a smile.
Willow’s eyes narrowed. “Off probation, are you? And you weren’t planning on telling me that, just as I suspected.” She crossed her arms over her chest and eyed him warily.
He was honestly surprised she wasn’t tapping her foot. “You would have made a spectacular governess,” he said dryly.
“So I have been told before,” she said. Her eyebrows arched delicately over her spectacles. She was not going to let him off on this one.
“I wasn’t going to tell you about this particular case because it is rather gruesome and I didn’t believe a woman such as yourself would—”
